Quintessential Hope
by Puffi The Insane
Summary: A young Nord starts getting strange dreams. A trapped Breton realizes he has a link to the outside world. An Imperial sets out looking for adventure. An Aylied tries to stop the end of the world. And Germania just wants a drink and for Mikkel to go away.


I don't even know. Will be Denmark/Lithuania and USxUK later.

Uses human names. (Mikkel for Denmark, Lukas for Norway, more as they appear.)

----

It was so dark here. Toris supposed he should be used to that by now, after all this time, but it still bothered him. He had spent most of his life in the sun (_or in that hell, underneath the burning sky, with the daedra, fighting back Oblivion, trying desperately to save the very people who would later turn against him, who trapped him beneath one of their grand cities, away from all of existence_), so this...

This was torture.

He sighed, closing his eyes against the soft blue glow, the only light he ever had, of the magical orb. The Ayleids were an amazing race, he would admit, to have created a spell for light that lasted this long after the spellcaster was dead.

Toris rubbed at his wrists, almost subconsciously, pressing the pads of his fingers against the markings that bound him here.

By Pirini, he wished someone would find him and break this damned curse.

With that thought, he fell asleep to the quiet, constant whispers of a long-dead race.

----

Miles away, in Bruma, a Nord by the name of Mikkel had his sleep interrupted by dreams of darkness and fire, places he'd never seen, and memories that weren't his.

_It started out mostly normal- riding a paint horse through the woods; it was raining, but it wasn't too heavy._

Then the sky twisted, red cracks showing through the black clouds. Then a refugee camp, sobbing people, families who lost everything. A blockade, guards, and a glowing red portal outside a burning city.

And then Mikkel woke up. He stared at the ceiling for a bit, before looking at his bed (the jolt of him falling out must have been what woken him up), then back at the ceiling, before he spoke to the empty room.

"Okay then. _Definitely_ cutting back on the booze a little."

----

"...and I've been having dreams like that for the past two weeks! Even though I've cut down on my drinking!"

Lukas managed to avoid his (supposed) friend's flailing limbs, shaking his head a little.

"If cutting down on your already-excessive drinking isn't helping, then why don't you stop entirely?" He drawled, "I'm sure Germania could give you a potion to help with that, because the Nine know you wouldn't be able to-."

Mikkel's entire face lit up, and he cut Lukas off. "You're right! I could ask Germania what they mean!" He shot up off the stool, clapping Lukas on the back hard enough the smaller man's face nearly hit the bar, "I'll go do that right now!" With that, the taller Nord nearly _skipped_ out, presumably to go visit the resident sorcerer. Lukas stared after him for a moment.

"...That's not even remotely what I said."

----

"Germania!" The Nord stepped into the shop, grinning at the Altmer's annoyed look.

"What do you want, Mikkel."

Shaking the snow off his coat (he had stopped to screw around in it for a bit; he couldn't help it, he loved it too much), Mikkel leaned on the counter (much to his elder's chagrin) with a wide grin.

"I got some questions."

----

Lithuania's eyes opened. It was snowing in Bruma; beautiful white flakes (that he felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of _love_ for) drifting to the ground.

He looked at the ceiling and wondered how he knew that.

----

"So, wait," Mikkel interrupted, rubbing his forehead (the sorcerer didn't have to hit him _that_ hard), "I have someone in my _head_?"

"Basically, yes," Germania answered, with the air of someone who _really_ didn't want to be having this conversation, and would rather be, say, gouging out their eyes, "They just don't know it."

"How can they not know?! Getting in someone's head isn't just something you randomly do!" Germania, luckily, was fast enough to grab the vial the Nord had knocked over in his flailing, giving him another dirty look.

"It's possible if they're powerful enough or your energa signatures are close enough."

Mikkel gave him a blank look, arms dropping back to his sides. "...Ene-wha?"

The Altmer heaved a sigh. "Energa. It's basically life energy; it's what recharges magicka-"

"But I thought willpower did that?" Mikkel interrupted again (Germania was beginning to sense a trend), nose screwed up in confusion.

"Willpower decides how _fast_ it recharges, not whether it does," Germania snapped, "Energa is also what controls the greater powers of each race; like your Nordic Frost spell. And, each persons' energa has a match, somewhere."

"Wha- like a soulmate or something?" The taller blond scratched his head in confusion.

A long-suffering sigh. "There are some cultures that believe they mean that too, but there's no apparent proof. Most people go their entire existence without ever knowing the person who's their match."

"Huh," Mikkel tilted his head, "And yet I've got mine in my head."

Germania nodded sharply. "Yes. And, as I said earlier, the dreams are probably the person's memories, subconsciously transmitted to you."

"But _why_?" It came out in a near-whine (which made the Nord sound _incredibly_ childish).

The sorcerer grit his teeth to force down the want to hit Mikkel, and shrugged. "Maybe there's something you need to learn from them. Maybe they're trying to send you a message. _That_, I don't know. Now, if you'll excuse me." With that, he- quite forcibly- ushered Mikkel out the door, slamming and locking it behind him.

----

"So what do you want me to do?"

His breath puffed out into the cold air (not that it bothered him; he was a Nord, after all), and Mikkel stared up at the sky. The rough surface of Dragonclaw Rock was scratching against his back, and he shrugged. Guess whoever it was, they couldn't hear him.

The blond jumped off the rock, before saluting the sky. "Okay! I am going home!"

In fact, he almost made it back inside the city (stopping to try to talk to Norge, who was leaving for a job; he was now nursing a bruised forehead from the moody mage), before nearly dropping his axe in shock.

_I want_, whispered a soft, effeminate voice, right in his ear, despite the fact that _no one was around-_

_I want you to save me._


End file.
